Black Holiday
by Legendarypanda
Summary: The night of Apollo's Lyre Erik confronts Christine which makes her realize where her heart lies. M for future content
1. Underneath an Angel

'Black Holiday

A Phantom of the Opera story

By Legendarypanda

 _Chapter one_

 **Underneath An Angel**

 _ **Paris- Christmas eve 1870**_

Icicles the color of her own eyes reflected the image of the Phantom back to him; cold, lonely and austere, he was truly an unapproachable creature. The moonlit mask so white it made the snow look filthy and unclean. The biting cold had little to no effect on him. He did not shiver; the snapping bite of the winter having no affect on him, the coldness of his home far worse than the one which currently smacked his body with his invisible hands. His blue eyes scanned the churchyard from where he knelt atop of the only building in the churchyard. The dark evening sky of the December Sunday was moonless behind the clouds so deeply blue that it was almost black, a midnight blue which only the natural dimness of the early morning hours could ever truly capture. His mother's eyes had been that shade of twilight blue, and he had both loved and hated those eyes. Beautiful and threatening all the same that shade of blue promised mystery and intrigue as well as the deadly cold blades of ice fell with ruthless, and reckless precision. Eyes like that could drive a man mad, his mother had said of herself. He knew she was right, for they had done the same for him, that blueness was something a man could drown in.

Many artists had tried but none could truly match the beauty of the entity the twilight hours where the music of the night itself slept lightly. The sort of slumber where the breathing and sighs where audibly gentle like a cooing of a song being sung by a lonesome child. The lament of a child who had grown to realize the cruelty of the world in all its horrid glory. If he listened closely, he, unlike others could hear the tears of the ghosts who had died before their time. Lamenting the loss of all that could have been, all that had come before and all that would never come to pass. Their mournful cries of resignation, resonated deep within his soul. Their voices sounded like that of a child he knew well, all too well that he cared to think of. A child who would be here soon to wish upon stars for the unattainable things that everyone wanted. He breathed out sharply through his nose; steam billowing and the place where he stood was high enough to see the single sliver of moonlight gleaming down at him like a spotlight.

She would be coming soon; he knew it, could sense it deep down in his bones crawling and creeping like so many scarab beetles crawling, in the torridness of the scabby skins of a Persian invalid. It was like a sixth-sense, something odd and ethereal which could not be explained. Like some sort of wicked, black magic. He inhaled the smell of the air, her feminine perfume caressing the holes which served as nostrils in his otherwise skeletal face. Erik groaned rubbing his mask, his male body reacting how any male body would when the object of his desire was so very close to him. Ironic really, that a walking corpse could feel so very much _alive_ when the rest of him wasn't. He took his mask off and turned his face up to the cold night air in a rather useless attempt at calming himself as he inhaled again. This time catching the feint but still present scent of a gentleman's expensive cologne.

He narrowed his eyes at the falling snowflakes like so many jeweled insects falling endlessly on the tentative armor of his now-sopping winter clothes, soaking the silk and leather to the point of uselessness. Still the chill had no affect on him and he waited, crouched atop a mournful statue; the fallen angel's head lowered in mournful solitude as she shed her eternal tears for a man that she had never met but then again perhaps she had met the man in whatever life came after this one. He bent and reverently kissed the top of her marble head, her beauty forever immortal as she wept in sorrowful retribution for the people she never watched them as the sound of weeping, faint though it was reached his ears like the mournful yet once lovely tone of a broken cathedral bell. Soft and slightly melodic in its torture but terrible in its pain all the same as he gazed upon the pristine surface with angry eyes. The snow was white, so white it appeared to blue, a magnificent shade of ice-crystal blue so cold that it became translucent, glowing an almost cobalt blue in the moonlight.

The the exact shade of blue as her eyes. Her lovely terrified eyes. Erik glared as he remembered the way those eyes had widened He growled as he watched her, dressed in the white domino. Her white dress clinging fetchingly to her curves and breasts. His silly little Christine had no idea what she did to a man. The way she innocently tucked her golden curls in her diamond hair-dress. She was running so fast that she slipped in the snow and landed hard on her little rump. Losing her glove in the powder while her tortured angel watched her in some sort of bizarre amusement while she scrounged around for her now missing garment. If he'd had eyebrows beneath his mask, Erik surely would have raised them, a rare cynical smirk twisting his...well teeth.

His girl was such a prim and proper little thing. Even in her haste, she could not bear to lose a glove. It was endearing really. How childlike she was. He stood in silence as the golden angel once named Apollo when the opera had first been built shielded him with wide golden wings so bright that in the summertime they blinded him if he came up before nightfall; not that he ever did mind you. Preferring the company of shadows to the noise and drudgery of the human race, shadows were his friend. Silent, and mystical in their enveloping darkness, embracing him with their hideousness and utter solitude. For dark thoughts circulated around the twisted genius in his mind. Dark, murderous thoughts as his anger mounted and his lust built. Erik cursed the God which had formed him a mortal man, feeling the jealousy of a man and the black hatred of a monster as she appeared before him in angelic perfection.

Blonde hair and blue eyes. her poor pathetic love struck suitor trailing close behind her as if he were a sailor following some Erik did not hate the man so much he might've felt sorry for him. Not that he did. On some level, he was proud of that little vixen, wrapping her coils around that piss-ant little boy's manhood and making him do her bidding. She was more like him than she liked to admit to herself. His Christine was just as powerful and just as wicked as him, if only she might admit it to herself. But then he supposed, that she, like many women did not know the extent of her own power. Her innocence, was damn-near compelling to the point of Erik almost softening his anger. Note the almost, as he did not take kindly to the sight of that _boy_ trailing so close to **his Christine.** Nor did he very much appreciate the way she was looking at him; with those wide, adoring, helpless blue eyes of over her, checking over her shoulder every so often to make sure he was still behind her.

He watched those eyes, the golden hair, twinkling beneath her white domino mask as she awaited that boy. Erik watched, waiting for him too but not for the same reason,no, he wanted a proper glimpse of the man who had the nerve to come anywhere near what was rightfully his. He stood there, flame-colored eyes boring down into the face of the object of his obsessive desires. Erik watched her intently, his dark heart growing blacker by the second as he thought of the little ingenue just hiding from him like the scared little girl that she was. But his little girl had been a very naughty child, first removing his mask and then running off to see this boy...yes naughty little girl needed to be punished and he would see to it that she was.

For while she rested under the watch of the angel she had no idea that another angel, a _fallen_ angel also stood his silent and deadly vigil overhead. A dangerous and treacherous angel dressed all in black. He narrowed his eyes as he pondered the pretty little redhead beneath him, And his watch was certainly not a gentle one. For this guardian, was a vengeful one and he did not like what he saw, did not like the fact that she now waited for another man. Deceived him, betrayed him and -this made him laugh a little bit- thought she had outsmarted him, silly girl, she would find out the truth soon enough. Her Erik would certainly see to that! He watcher her from above, the angel of music watching over little Lotte as she navigated the perilous journey of adulthood.

A vigil which had been marked by the blood which ran through his fingers, ran through them as if he'd soaked them in it, and in some ways he supposed he had. Gazing intently, and darkly down at her a thin, crooked smile twisting his lip-less mouth. His thoughts darkly playful as the twisted wheels of his mind formulated the plan to punish the lovers. The boy in particular, for although hurting her was unthinkable, that little Vicomte was another matter entirely. How he would simply love to throttle the boy, watch him squirm and squeal at the end of the rope. He moistened the hole that was his mouth, golden eyes bright at the thought of that stuffed aristocrat, dangling, twitching, his eyes bulging out of that disgustingly handsome face of his. He stopped himself, no, he couldn't do that, to kill that boy would hurt his little girl and he never wanted that, never, but then desperate times called for desperate measures and if she pushed him far enough she would live to regret it.

He turned his face to the sky enjoying the coldness of the snow as he let his eyes drift up to the swirling cosmos above his head. Starlight was the only thing keeping this world from being completely black, and had she looked up she would have seen simply what appeared to be two menacing fireflies glowing in a sinister fashion as he pondered the shadows and mulled over the secrets of the night. Erik was no fool, he knew the wile nature of young women and his Christine was no exception but that was just the trouble, she was his and she seemed to have forgotten this fact. A rather egregious transgression if he said so himself. Erik peered down and noticed something twinkling in the near-pitch darkness of the Parisian night and his eyes narrowed as he noted a smiling gold band winking at him from the otherwise spotless slush. He glared down at it, feeling his blood boil as he watched her sight of it. Naughty, naughty girl that she was. She had broken her promise to Erik and he did not take kindly to that. She had done the exact opposite of what he had told her. It was so simple: his one commandment: to stay away from that boy and she had disobeyed him.

Erik would make her pay for it, for that he was certain. He let his mouth twist into a cold fanged smile, with a mouth that had no lips. That foolish young fop of hers, he had left her alone and undefended on the roof of the haunted opera. Where a ghost was supposedly lurking in the dark to steal her away; and oh how right he was. She was sitting, kneeling, knee-deep in the white snow, her rosary clutched tightly in her pale hands to the point of where her knuckles reflecting two sets of sickly pearls. Erik sneered in utter disgust. His girl was such an innocent child, so silly, so naive. Praying to a God who cared nothing for her. He was the only one who understood her. The only one who truly loved her. Why couldn't she see that? Why was she so very _blind!_ Erik gathered the ring into his palm and slowly, ever-so-slowly, he approached her.

"Naughty girl, Christine," he hissed. "Kissing that _insolent boy."_

She whirled around and met his masked face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as her rosary beads fell soundlessly to the ground. She bent to gather them but Erik was too fast for her. He picked them up, his skinless hands clicking as his skeletal fingers pinched together to hold the silly little relic up to the icy moonlight. It disgusted him, made him feel like throwing up even and as if he could not bear their touch he dropped them to the ground. Christine yelped and gathered them up from the ground, her hands trembling as she stuffed them back into the confines of her corset. Almost afraid that he might have tossed them off the roof just to spite her. Erik turned and walked toward his terrified songbird, stopping in front of her as the single red rose he had given her fell from the pocket of her cloak.

"Erik...have..." she whispered; he held up his hand to stop her.

"Pity on you?" he finished. "Oh Christine, your Erik does not pity you, your Erik LOVES YOU!"He roared at the top of his voice and then he fell to his knees.

Erik crawled toward her like the pathetic wretch he was, his hands trembling as he grasped the hem of her dress and he wept openly. The tears possibly the warmest thing to touch his face in so many years that for a moment he gasped in apparent pain. The burning sensation nearly too much for him as he moaned like the pathetic animal he was. Christine stood there, not moving as the man she had once thought to be an angel crawled on the ground like some mangy mutt starving for affection. Emotions warring in her eyes as she thought of a hundred different things at once. Her heart constricted with a mixture of sympathetic pity for this lonesome love starved creature writhing on the ground before her. But her pity was mixed with terror, for this being in front of her was not a normal man. This man was a monster, a murderer, a madman. He was inhuman, as black-hearted as the cloak which hung too loose on his nonexistent back. Words of love falling like acid-rain from his antarctic mouth.

Teeth clicking together when he spoke. So why did she feel this urge to hold him close? Erik got to his feet as the door creaked open and he smelled him again. The boy was coming, coming to take his Christine away from him forever. He rose to his feet, feeling for his lasso and drawing it from the inside of his cloak. Christine was his! And if he had to kill the boy she would understand that! But then he made a mistake, a terrible, awful and deadly mistake. He looked back at her, with her terrified blue eyes and saw the shine there, the shine that was never meant for him. His Christine did not love him. She would never love him. His heart which he had long felt dead and devoid of emotion seemed to crack right down the middle. The two halves of it landing on either side of his chest and he began to back up toward the edge of the rooftop.

Christine went white as she watched him,"What are you doing?" she whispered, beginning to panic.

"Goodbye my Christine..." he choked, swallowing the nauseous lump in his throat. "Erik will give his love anything she likes, his love, his life...his death."

She froze,"Oh Heaven!" she cried, tears pouring down her face, "Erik... ** _no_**... _please...please no!"_

He may be a madman, a lunatic and a liar but she did not ask for this. She did not want this. Not from the man who had been her everything for so many years. Christine realized in that moment that was the first time she had thought of him as a man. A human man who had told her he loved her more than once, too many times in fact for her to count. Erik was just a lonesome, pathetic man who she had driven mad with the most painful unrequited love; all on account of her. She stepped forward slowly, carefully hearing Raoul getting closer, coming up the stairs. He would be here any moment now, and she was running out of time. Both to stop him from carrying her off as she had made him promise to do and to stop the other from ending his life. Her small feet crunched in the frigid ground, stinging with the intensity of the cold as she slipped out of her thin silk slippers; going forward as he went back.

"Erik," she pleaded again, "Not like this."

He looked at her, his mask dangling from his left ear, leaving half of his face exposed. "Christine does not love her Erik...Erik frightens her."

"Of course you do!" she said, "Erik your emotions are rather intense..."

Erik cried, hanging his head so that his black mask fell with a painful thud to the snow-covered brick, his face now fully exposed."Erik cannot help it!" he moaned, still backing up so that he was dangerously close to the edge, "Christine does not understand!" the poor monster cried.

"What don't I understand?" she shouted to him as the wind howled in her ears, "Please Erik talk to me!"

"Christine wants Erik gone, Christine is frightened of him... Christine does not love him..." he lamented.

"Erik..." she whispered, reaching for him helplessly.

He continued his retreat. If she did not love him then he no longer had a reason to live; and if he had no reason to live then he would no longer continue to do so. He looked behind him seeing the yule tide lights shining him. The great grandfather clock showing just five minutes to Christmas and he laughed at the cruel irony of his untimely death. The birth of the lord would be the end of his unwanted, bastard child. Named for the devil himself in his second and a prince of darkness in his first. He could hear the footsteps of the boy as he tripped on the opera house steps and fell flat on his aristocratic nose. If he were not in such a morbid form of mind he might have smiled but instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out his golden ring dropping it at her that he turned to make his jump when someone reached out and grabbed him yanking him back.

Erik hit the ground and landed flat on his back, looking up at Christine who was crying and holding onto his arm. She shook all over, as she continued to drag him back toward the angel. Christine was surprised at how light, how very _thin_ Erik was as she forced him back down so that he sat still. Before she knew what else she could do for him, she rose to her feet and ran toward the door of the roof; slamming it shut and locking the deadbolt with a resounding crash just before Raoul reached the threshold. She did not know why she did what she did, only that the last person Erik needed to see at a time like this was Raoul. She crept back over to him, he was struggling to find his mask in the snow and she stopped him with a shake of her head. Taking his chin in her hand she made him meet her eyes. Reaching up to wipe the tears running down his face. Erik sighed, relishing the human contact he had been denied for so long.

"Erik..." she whispered, "please let me in, what is it you think I will not understand."

"Erik has..." he choked on a gasp, "never loved anyone before."

She blinked at the startling confession, "Surely you jest Erik, surely your mother...father...you must've loved them no?"

Erik let out a bitter laugh, "Erik never met the old drunk which his poor unhappy mother spoke of. All she said was that he raped her. That he raped her and Erik was part of that. She hated Erik; and Erik learned to hate her."

Christine shook her head, "Poor Erik," she whispered, stroking the balding head,

"Erik has never been loved by anyone, and has never loved anyone...except his Christine. But Christine doesn't love him, she even dropped his ring."

Christine shook her head, "Poor man..." she whispered and placed her lips on his head whispering, "You poor, poor man." against the thin lining of his skin.

Erik's body went rigid at the touch of her lips. An almost stunned sigh escaped him as she held his shoulders to keep him from heading back to the edge of the roof. She let her lips linger as long as she could, before needing air. He reached up as if to hold the kiss in place. The red from her lipstick stained the spot where she had kissed him and she took out her handkerchief and wiped his head clean. Christine handed him the handkerchief imagining he would wipe his tears away but instead he stared at it for a moment and folded it up. Placing it in the pocket of his dress coat as if to save her kiss forever. She reached up and wiped his face, reaching into his coat pocket she put his ring back on her hand, continuing to wipe his unmasked face. Feeling the fragile bones of his cheeks, the rigid hard lining of his jaw and the strong sculpted lines of his face.

As hideous as he was she had to admit he was handsome in his own oddly imperfect way. Not beautiful as Raoul was, but not so unpleasant that the sight of him was unbearable; but Christine assumed she was just biased because she loved him. She loved him. The realization hit her like a shot to the heart, the realization that she loved him so deeply that the thought of losing him was a genuinely terrifying prospect seemed to slap her across the face. She stroked his face again feeling him close his eyes and tentatively press her hand to his poor neglected cheek. Christine did not stop him, she _couldn't_ stop him. Couldn't bear to take her hand away from his skin or ruin the one moment of compassion this poor man had ever been shown. Her hand's cold as they were made his own skin feel warm and Erik sighed looking at her with the most distressed affection she had ever seen.

"It's all right Erik...I'm here." she told him, feeling his shoulders slump as his head landed heavily on her shoulder.

"Christine does not want to be here," he groaned, "Christine will run away with her boy..." he sobbed. "Christine tortures Erik with one moment of affection and then she will walk out of his life forever."

"Erik," she sighed, exhausted."Look at me." Erik looked up at her, helpless to do anything other than her bidding, "I love you."


	2. Home for Christmas

Black Holiday

A Phantom of the Opera story

By Legendarypanda

 _Chapter two_

 **Home for Christmas**

Erik blinked, unable to believe the holes he sported for ears. Had he just heard her correctly? Christine was holding onto him making sure that he could not get away from her lest he attempt to fall to his death again. Her hands warm, soothing on his poor neglected muscles. His golden eyes met hers and he began to cry. Hiding his face in her tiny palms while she let him empty his emotions. When at last he quieted, she moved her hands from his face and dried them on her skirt before rising and holding them out to him in order to help him up. Erik was far too easily pulled to his feet and she made a mental note to feed him much more often when she was alone with him. She held onto him for a moment, nuzzling his chest and burying her nose in his white silken shirt as she inhaled his smell. Normally she had thought him to smell of death but when she inhaled this time she noticed that he simply smelled of dust and mildew.

An unpleasant odor sure but certainly not the stench of death. Christine knew the smell of death all too well. She had smelled its sickness before, when her papa had laid down and succumbed to the galloping consumption. The smell of sickness was something she knew all too closely; it smelled of chemicals and vomit as well as human waste. This, well this was just the result of not having a good laundress on hand at the appropriate times and so his clothing needed to drip dry. Which could while giving the appearance of cleanliness, cause it to mold invisibly. Not his fault. He lived in a dark, damp place with no light and no warmth. It surprised Christine how nonchalant she was by the smell as she rubbed her nose against his heart. Erik was crying, shaking kissing her all over her head as he leaned heavily on her, struggling to keep his grip. Strange that a man so strong he had the ability to kill a man with his bear hands would be so physically unstable; but then the answer hit her when she framed his face in her hands.

She could feel how clammy he was, how sweaty,almost like a literal fish out of water. When she caught a few disjointed endearments that he mumbled into her hair she heard a rather grumbled tone in the words. He had not only a slight gravel in his voice but she heard the sharp rattle in his chest when he breathed. The poor man was sick! She reached up and felt his forehead which was burning like the inside of a furnace and surely must've hurt him. Erik lifted his head and turned away quickly as a forceful sneeze was wrenched from his sinuses. Christine looked up into his eyes and noticed how heavy they were; how sleepy he looked. For some reason she found this adorable. Not that he was ailing but that she had never seen her tutor sleepy and vulnerable as he was now. He kept nodding in and out, fighting sleep for her when his poor frail body was so desperately in need of rest. She did not know what he slept in or where he did so but she knew that wherever it was and whatever it was in, it couldn't possibly be healthy.

A second sneeze escaped his poor well... not-nose and he had to turn away to keep from spraying her in his spit. Snot ran down his face and although it must have pained him to let go of her he wiped it away with the back of his sleeve. Christine smiled, not that she liked to see him in this condition, but he was so innocent. Like a little schoolboy with a cold who had lost his handkerchief and so resorted to using his sleeve. It was messy and certainly unsanitary but just so endearing to see him do something so juvenile and boyish. Boyish. There was a word Christine never thought she would use to describe Erik. Still it suited him. Christine reached into her sleeve and pulled out a second handkerchief. She always kept two in her dress, one in each sleeve. in case of a matter of springtime sniffles. She wiped his face, feeling how tired he was almost as if that were the infection.

Christine sighed, not blaming him for being sleepy, His house -if one could even call it that- it was more of a cave really; only had one bedroom in as far as she was aware. Erik always gave that room to her which begged the question of where he slept at night. If she had the only bed, did that mean he slept on the cold stone floor? It was indeed an unpleasant thought. Caves were not good for healthy men to sleep in, let alone in the case of a man as well half-dead as her Erik. Christine frowned, when did she start thinking of Erik as hers? She shrugged off the thought, the when of it did not matter. All that mattered was he was hers and she did not wish for him to continue in this way. If he did he would surely die. Another epiphany hit her. Perhaps the reason Erik kept insisting upon the reality of his impending death was because he believed himself to be condemned to a life of pain and loneliness till he left this wretched world.

Her heart broke to think of him like that. To think, that she, the only person he had ever loved had just left him like that. Trapped in a prison which kept him sick and lonesome, skulking around in the bowels of the earth and never seeing the sun while a raging fever tormented his body. It occurred to Christine that she had no idea how long he had been sick, or more to the point of what was wrong with him. All she knew was he was hardly able to stand and she was currently holding him up and as she did she could feel his shivering. His entire figure shaking with inner cold. Christine frowned. She was no doctor but, she knew one thing for sure. Erik would be dead by the turn of New Years if this fever was left untreated. He gagged and spit disgustingly as a gob of dark green fluid exited his poor battered lungs. Moaning in pain as a loud disruptive banging echoed behind them.

Erik moaned softly as he hid his face in her hair for a long moment, his shoulders slumping and then Christine had to jam her fist in her mouth. Erik was so sick and so sleepy that he had nodded off standing up. For a moment she had thought perhaps he was making an awkward attempt at romance with the words he had been muttering. When in truth he had been muttering love-words in his sleep. The knowledge that, even in his sleep Erik felt a need to tell her how much he loved her made her feel even more guilty for her behavior toward him. She rubbed his back, knowing she could not stay there forever but wanting him to have a few minutes rest at the very least. Christine felt her shoulders caving, despite how light he was when he was asleep his body became dead weight and she felt herself stumble a little beneath him. He moaned but slept on, stumbling along with her and nearly knocking them both to the ground. Christine sighed, wanting to hold him but unable to support his weight.

She kissed his chest again, backing up and easing him back against the statue in a sitting position. Erik let out a soft groan and then Christine could not help it. She had to laugh as -unbelievably- Erik's mouth opened in a perfect 'O' shape. If that were not unexpected enough, he started to drool and then...just to put icing on the cake, he started to snore. He snored so loudly in fact that it seemed to echo all around her. She doubled over in a fit of soft laughter that the intimidating opera ghost had a snore much like any other man whose lover complained of keeping her up at night. It was such a normal, human thing to do and so unexpected that Christine had to lean over by his mouth to make sure she was not hearing things. Indeed Erik was snoring; deeply asleep against the hard bronze statue. Brow furrowed in discomfort and eyes squeezed shut tightly to block out the light from the painful moon.

Christine shook her head in sympathy for the poor dear as she finally took notice of the fact that he was sitting here in the open air completely unmasked. She squinted in the maladjusted light and spotted his black mask at the very edge of the quickly went over and scooped it up, gulping as the knowledge of just how high up she was reached her mind. She swallowed the huge terrified lump in her throat and took a few deep choral breaths to steady herself. Ever since she was a child, Christine had hated and had a dreadful fear of heights and most of all falling. The aforementioned having happened to her many times before, always resulting in a painful thump on her head and the other well she had heard far too many terror-tales of people falling to their deaths. Simply better to stay away from high places, and

Still she squared her shoulders, picked up the mask and scurried back over to where Erik was taking his snooze. She knelt down and watched him sleep for a moment, not wanting to put the mask back on. He looked uncomfortable enough in his current condition and she did not want to wake him. But Raoul was kicking the door, trying to get up to the roof calling to her while unbeknownst to him she was in the arms of his rival. Not only that, but she also had no intention of allowing him to keep his word and carry her off. Still, the noise must've hurt Erik's head because he groaned and tried to rub his head. Christine shook her own head and without a word hoisted poor Erik to his feet. He looked at her with heavy eyes as he tried to remain standing and maintain his hold on her at the same time, leaning heavily on her shoulder like a drunken man. She kissed his chest, and neck rubbing his temple for him as the pounding became even louder.

Erik did his best as always to retain his dignity as always but groaned when the noise hammered his scalp. Christine shushed him pulling her exhausted love closer, knowing as she did so she was ending her love affair with Raoul and not particularly caring one way or the other. It wasn't that she didn't love Raoul, it was simply that she was not _in love_ with him. Something she would have to face later on she knew but for the moment she was more concerned about getting out of here. Before Raoul kicked that door down as the noise seemed to be indicating. If she did not hurry his thick riding boots would do their task and break the deadbolt and catch her as the she lead Erik to the janitorial entrance behind the steps. His skin icy to the point of where it was worrying. She had to get him out of the cold, off this roof.

Christine continued to tug him as Erik, in his feverish state did not protest: still too shocked by her declaration than to do anything other than what she wanted. Erik allowed her to pull him toward the back door, trying to hold his mask on but coughing harshly. Christine turned and took it tucking it into her cloak. There was no reason for him to wear such a thing at midnight on Christmas morning. No one would be walking the streets at this time of night. The relief that came with this realization was quickly tempered with worry. No passerby also meant no carriages and it was at least a four-hour walk to her flat. She then remembered the Opera house coach and was so grateful that her father had taught her to drive when she was young. She quickly loaded Erik into it, easily enough because of his weight and climbed in beside him.

"Mmmm... Christine..." Erik moaned softly, "Where is Christine taking her Erik? Erik wishes to sleep..."

"Shh Erik, you can go to sleep, it's all right." she told him, kissing his cheek.

He let out a nearly orgasmic sigh at the touch of her lips before closing his eyes and beginning to regulate his breathing. Christine drove on, not understanding that she had not thought this through very well. Sure, she had gotten them into the coach, and away from the opera but then, she realized if she went to her flat, Raoul would surely find her the next morning. If that happened she would have to explain to him why Erik the man she had been running from a few hours ago was now sleeping in her house. Not a very pleasant conversation and not one she was even remotely ready to have. An inn was the best option. Under false names so they would not be checked her pockets and found that, aside from a handful of peppermints she had been saving for Christmas she had a total of ₣6.50 in pocket money and a handful of lint. None of this will be any good for tonight that was for sure.

She gently nudged a very sleepy Erik who blinked and did his damnedest to focus his eyes, "Erik do you have any money, we cannot go back to my flat. People will find you."

Erik groaned a little in waking before gingerly taking out an ornamented envelope and handing it to her, "this is all poor Erik has on him, he wishes he could give Christine more."

She took the envelope and opened it, her eyes bugging out, "₣40,000?" she stammered, "Really Erik, that is hardly poor."

"Two months salary...nothing compared to the boy's...zzz..."Erik had begun to snore mid-sentence.

Christine laughed and kissed him on the head while her sick companion caught up on some very-much needed sleep. As she drove on she looked around the road and noted the beauty of the French countryside. Seeing a wooden sigh which read, 'Paris, City Limits' as she continued; Christine began to search for an inn for Erik to sleep in. Feeling like a bed would be much better for him than the rocky coach, but then she stopped herself. If she went to an inn, two things would happen. The first of which being that the innkeeper would ask unwanted questions and gawk at Erik. Second, they would eventually have to leave and then Erik would have to return to his so-called home in the cellars and then who knows what would happen? Certainly nothing good. Even if she got him well, he would grow sick again in no time in that dark, damp place. No an inn was out of the question and so was returning to the theater.

She looked at the money in the envelope. ₣40,000 should be enough she reasoned, to get a small place. Not a mansion no but something big enough for him to live comfortably. Erik did always say that he always wanted a home of his own and the country air would do him a world of good. Christine drove on into the night, searching for the ideal spot to lay Erik down and set up home in. After a quarter-hour of driving around in the carriage Christine was becoming drowsy and her muscles ached from gripping the reigns. Just when she was about to give up hope, she saw it: a beautiful stone home with a waterwheel and rose garden. She pulled over and adjusted the ring to her wedding-finger before reaching into her own pocket.

Inside her pocket was the single most precious thing she owned. Her father's wedding band, given to her on the day he died. Christine knew if she was going to pull off this charade properly that she and Erik best give the appearance of a married couple. She took Erik's hand and due to how skinny his fingers are, was able to slide the ring on easily. It was much too big for him but would have to do for now. Erik did not wake up but batted her away from him and flopped down on the seat of the coach and rolling over in annoyance. Christine chuckled going up to the door and giving it a sharp strong knock. No idea why but it just seemed rather impolite not to knock before entering. No one answered. She tried again, still nothing. Christine was about to try a third time when she heard a sharp old cackle coming from behind her.

"No use a-knockin' there love!" said the old man pulling a wheelbarrow behind her, "No ones lived there in over half a decade." he laughed.

It was abandoned? Perfect! Christine laughed flippantly, putting on her best showstopping smile. Time to put all those acting lessons Erik gave her to good use. Christine took a deep breath, and did her best to look relaxed. She was hoping to buy a house but if she had just found one and could save Erik's money then that was even better. However, if she did not have an explanation for why she was banging on the door of an old house at half-midnight on Christmas morning then she was in trouble. It was suspicious as it was that she was even out here to begin with and if he saw Erik it would be all the worse. Then it clicked, she was in a white dress and young and wearing a wedding ring and the rouse just fell into place.

Making her eyes sparkle she replied, "Oh, I know... it's mine. I asked my friend to house-sit for me while my husband and I were honeymooning in Paris. I seemed to have lost my keys in Paris and oh dear me whatever shall we do!" she pretended to cry.

"There there love." said the old man, "can't be as bad as all that can it?"

"My husband is sick," she said dramatically, "I need to get inside to get him his medicine, if he gets any worse I... I... I _just don't know what I will do."_ she wasn't acting anymore. Now she really was in tears.

It worked, the old man came up and rubbed her back. "You got a spare don'tcha?" he asked gently, stroking her spine.

"I forgot where I put it!" she sobbed, "poor Erik...he's so tired...he ought to rest but I can't even get into my own BLOODY HOUSE!" she wept.

"There there Mrs. I'm sorry what did you say your name was?" he asked.

Shit, Christine thought, I don't have a last name for Erik. What to use? I don't know his last name. She thought hard for a moment remembering, remembering how Erik had once told her he was little more than a creature of the night. De la Nuit, De la nuit... it came to her again, "Delaney." she hiccoughed.

"Pleased to meet yer!" cheered the old man, "I'm your neighbor Tiberius Lamont, also the gardener for the folks down the way,"

"Likewise," she said, patting her coat in distress, "oh where is that blasted key!"

"Did ye try checking under the mat?" he asked, and she laughed.

She slapped herself, pretending to be so frazzled she had forgotten the obvious. "Of course, the one place I didn't look." she pretended like she should have thought of that first and found the key right where he said it would be. "Thank you so much, monsieur Lamont I must apologize for my hysterics."

"Not at all dear, you are a young woman in love locked out of your home with a sick husband right after your honeymoon, you go inside now and get some rest eh?" he said kindly as he waved at her and headed off into the darkness. Turning back he said, "Merry Christmas! Happy New Year, Joyous Wedding!"

Christine grinned back at him,"Same to you." she cheered, "Well the first two at least!"

Tiberius laughed, "I meant all three! Well get some good sleep won't you? You and that lucky, lucky man of yours."

Christine waved him goodbye, and then unlocked the door to the house deciding to explore a little bit. What she found was very appealing. Four large bedrooms, two washrooms and a small kitchen. She smiled to herself imagining what it would be like to be here with Erik. To be married to Erik, perhaps have a few children with Erik. Christine blinked. Where did **that** come from? When had she started to imagine her angel of music as a man she could spend the rest of her life with? She didn't know but she know. All she knew was that when she looked at this simple stone home: she wanted to stay here forever. In Erik's arms, forever. She got up and went to get Erik, wondering how he would feel about all of this. There would be time to worry about all this later, she reminded herself and went back to the coach where Erik was at last beginning to wake.

"Good morning Erik...well evening...no it's 1 a.m. So I suppose that is morning isn't it?" Christine mused, "I mean how does one greet their love waking in the middle of the night I wonder?"

Erik,sick as he was, brightened up and said with childlike enthusiasm, "Erik knows! Erik knows!"

Christine laughed cocking one eyebrow, "Oh really? How's that?" she asked, trying not to grin.

Erik got out of the coach as best he could -Christine had to help him down- when he reached the ground Erik grabbed the back of her neck and tipped her chin, causing the woman to gasp at how strong this walking corpse actually was. Erik leaned in, locking eyes with her before he slowly, Erik kissed her mouth. This kiss however was not like anything she had ever experienced. His lips were frigid with the coldness of his body, cold but not unpleasant as he kept his mouth on hers till she could feel his tongue poking out just a little. Christine had no idea what else to do but allow him; not that she had any experience in such things beyond watching the other women of the Corps de Ballet. Kissing -when they did it at least- was done with their mouths open and she opened hers: allowing Erik to enter her first it felt strange, sort of wet but not at all unappealing as he turned his head and deepened the kiss. Then the strangest thing happened to her. She felt a heat begin to spread throughout her whole body and settle, tingling between her legs.

Christine groaned as a pulse went through her womanhood, and a flush of wetness leaked just the smallest amount into her undergarments. Good Lord, when had she become so very wanton? Her groan seemed to urge him on and he moved his hand down to cup the base of her neck and she returned the kiss. Her tongue running along the length of his teeth and causing his whole body to stiffen up. Raoul's kiss had been nothing like this, a simple chased peck on the lips and that was it. But this, she just couldn't seem to stop. Wanting to be closer, wanting more _contact,_ more _pressure_ as she pressed herself against his frozen body. It was over as suddenly as it began, Erik pulled away from her and as soon as his outward show of male dominance appeared it vanished. He dropped to his knees in hysterics and put his face in his hands moaning pathetically.

"Forgive Erik, Christine... he begs you...forgive him." he wailed, "Christine is such a good girl, taking care of Erik as she has and Erik takes unfair advantage of her! She should strike Erik, hurt him!"

Christine, lips still tingling stopped him and pulled him to his feet, "I will do no such thing." she said, "you've done nothing wrong."

"Yes Erik has, Erik has NO RIGHT to kiss Christine in such a brazen manner!" he yelled, "He is evil! Wicked! _Disgusting Monster!"_

"Erik you are **not.** " she hissed trying to quiet him. "and besides which, I liked it." she admitted.

Erik looked positively shocked, "Christine must've caught Erik's fever." he said, eyes wide.

Christine giggled but quickly sobered as he chocked on his own fluids and fell victim to a rather violent coughing fit. Hunching over in the snow and spitting up more green stuff which smelled as disgusting as it looked. Christine let out a tender _tisk-tisk_ and pulled Erik to his feet. He moaned softly, the sudden burst of energy gone and walked into the cozy little house before sitting him on the couch. The soft leather of the furniture hardly creaked underneath his slight weight, she bent down and removed his dress shoes and found to her own amusement that he wore thick woolen socks. Really for a terrifying opera ghost, he was so utterly and completely **normal** down to the woolly socks he used to cover his cold feet. It was positively adorable.

She smiled kneeling down in front of him and asking, "Hungry Erik?"

He frowned, shaking his head, "Erik is sleepy and wonders where Christine has taken him..." he groused.

"Our home Erik." she said simply.

Erik's eyes popped like champagne corks, "What does Christine mean? She wishes to live with Erik?"

Christine smiled, "is it the common practice of women to live apart from their husbands?" she asked him.

Erik felt his forehead, "Erik is sicker than he thought," he mumbled, "Christine is not married to Erik."

She burst out laughing, "We will be. Just as soon as you are well." she told him, lighting the fire and settling in beside him.

The soft sofa felt good on her back after the cold roof and stress of the night. Erik was crying, shaking violently. crying as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. He seemed to freeze up, careful not to touch her. Christine frowned. She didn't like that. Lifting her head she watched the firelight as she arranged his hands around her properly. His audible gasp echoed throughout the silent room while she rubbed her cheek against his shivering body. Smiling when he very hesitantly patted her back. Crying tears of joy at what was happening around him. He kissed her head, his mouth hesitant and unsure but so gentle and so reverent that it made her eyes water. Christine sighed as she snuggled into the heat of his feverish chest and simply unable to think anymore that night, fell asleep.


	3. holiday of the heart

Black Holiday

A Phantom of the Opera story

By Legendarypanda

 _Chapter three_

 **Holidays of the Heart**

When Christine woke the next morning Er we wereik was still asleep, his eyes heavy and shut as he breathed in and out gently through his nose. Well slits but all the same. Christine smiled and lifted him as though he weighed little more than a baby and carried him, sound asleep into the master bedroom where the lumpy double bed looked soft enough to sink into. He was heavy when he was dead-weight like this, not too heavy for her to carry but difficult all the same due to his height. His feet scraping the bottom of the floor, hands dangling limp over her arms so that she had to be careful not to scrape his fragile skin on the walls. Erik moaned, twisting in her arms as a nightmare, coupled with his fever began to wake him up. Christine shook her head, knowing he needed a good rest. He was so sick, he was struggling to breathe and it made her feel ill to see him like this when all he had ever done was love her.

All he had ever done was give her the world and now his body would not give him a moment's peace. The world was a harsh cruel place for him and she had only seemed to make it so much worse for the poor man on the whole. He had the right to be loved, to be wanted as did any man and it wasn't his fault that he had chosen her to be the object of his affections. He had spent literally ten years giving her the world, come to think of it Raoul probably would never have noticed her to begin with if Erik had not gotten her on stage in the first place. She probably would have been consigned to the chorus and told forever that she sung like a crane in a pack of screeching gulls. Never to have reached her full potential and her soul locked away forever in the depths of a deafening shadowed hell.

Shadows. That one word seemed to hit Christine hard right in the heart as she thought about Erik being stuck in his own hell. That cold dark hole in which he dwelled was not fit for any human being to live in and what was worse; was that he was too much in love with her to care. Erik would never leave the opera because that meant being away from her and that was just unbearable to him. Even if it meant he got sick. even if it cost his life, her Erik would **always, always** be there for her. Come hell or high water he would be there to give her his music; to dry her eyes and make all the bad things that went bump in the night go away with a lullaby and a single, tentative kiss on the forehead.

She owed this man the world and yet he asked for nothing more than a smile and a kiss. and a face was little reason not to love him back. Yes, he was ugly as sin, yes he was a very unstable and somewhat dangerous man but she knew who he was at heart and deep down he was just lonesome and broken inside to the soul. His mind was as tortured as a hell hound in heaven and she was the only one who could save him. An unhealthy thought process and a dangerous train of thought to say the least for many a young girl had fallen into such a trap; to fall in love with a violent man thinking one could change him only to meet with an untimely end. But her Erik, he was not like that. He would sooner kill himself than hurt her and she knew that as surely as she knew her own name and as she sat there on his lap she knew the only thing she could focus on was making him better.

She hushed his moaning with a single whisper, marveling at how easily he responded to her commands; that just the sound of her voice would soothe his darkness. A lullaby perhaps to help him sleep better for surely the world owed him that much in the end of it all. He was tired, she knew that but beyond that the man was also crazy as anything but she knew she had to get him into bed. She never understood why laying down always helped sick people but it did and though she was young she could put two and two together and knew that sick people in hospital or otherwise always laid in bed. Christine briefly wondered if Erik had ever slept in a bed before and shuddered to think of the poor and abused child and what he might have endured as she dragged him, half-dead with sleep into the bedroom and toward the bed which lay mercifully intact and unrotten in the center of the room.

At last she made it to the bed and when she let him lay down she discovered that it was in fact one of those waterbeds which were relatively new. Created some three decades or so ago to help those who were invalid with the prevention of bed-boils. She smiled, this would be perfect for Erik's poor back, and found his reaction to being laid down very good indeed. He laid down and then he...smiled in his sleep and adjusted himself to a cozier position before his snoring resumed. Christine put an extra pillow under his aching, crackling spine for he had no flesh or fat on him to give him any sort of reliable cushion for his aches and pains. Christine laid him on the bed which did not even sag beneath his weight and listened as the water sloshed inside it. She watched him sleep for a minute or two before going into the kitchen and deciding that it needed a good scrubbing down.

There seemed to be a layer of grime across all of the furniture and the old dishes which appeared to be wooden and china had such a thick coating of dust on them that to take one out made her sneeze and she was happy she always kept her handkins up her sleeves as her eyes began to water. Christine hated dust, she was very allergic and always had been, choking and coughing her way through the ballet lessons as the dancing chalk wafted in great white clouds She wiped her eyes from the tears and set about her work, rolling up her sleeves as she became soaked to her elbows in the sudsy water before putting the dishes away. Next thing on order was to mop up the table and maybe put some flowers on it, something cheerful and bright. To put some color into this cozy if dreary little place where she and Erik would be staying together. No more grime and darkness and mold in the walls. He'd been through enough of that. Once she had cleaned the kitchen, the washroom was next and by the time she was done she was simply exhausted and there was still so much to do.

The other bedrooms needed to be covered and dusted, the floors needed sweeping and not to mention the outside. The garden was beautiful but needed weeding desperately and she could have sworn she needed to do a number of other things too complicated to name. The work on this abandoned house was both a blessing and a curse, because yes, Erik had his safe place but now she had to clean it so that it would remain safe. A dirty home would lead to more health problems and he was already frail as it was and dirt and dust would not help him as she choked on the smell of the dust in the other rooms, as she pulled sheets off the windows and let in the glorious pearling winter morning. Christine yawned, dreading the work ahead which seemed endless and backbreaking. The ivy and vines covering the windows and walls needed yanking, the garden needed weeding, dinner needed cooking and she...really needed a nap.

Stumbling into the bedroom she collapsed beside Erik who was grunting and rolling over to drag her close to him, finding she liked the feeling of his firm, bony arms around her tight and secure. It was strange to think that she found his arms so pleasing, so comfortable, and the bed beneath them was warm and safe. The water sloshing under her cradling her hips as if she were lying on the ocean on a warm summer day. Her eyes fluttered closed as Erik's open mouth blasted a gust of hot air into her curls on an exhale and she giggled as the hot air tickled her earlobe. He was such a...such an...an _ordinary_ man when she thought about it that it was almost comical. The infamous Opera Ghost was little more than normal, rather ordinary human being. Little more than a man. A man with an obnoxious snore, and a taste for stealing kisses just like any other lover in France, he just needed someone to show it to.

He was alone and broken and no one gave a damn about the poor man, and it was high time somebody minded his needs; she thought as she lay there beside him in the bed, noticing that his icy embrace was warming up nicely and his fever, while not broken had lessened a considerable amount. Most likely due to the warmth of the house and the heat of the fire, something his cavern did not have she was sure. She settled down in the bed beside him, her eyes growing heavy despite the noise and wondered if it was possible for a man to soothe his partner to sleep with such a heavy and raucous noise. Still it had the desired effect and she was soon fast asleep. Not even moving. Just curling up into a ball and cocooning herself in the blankets so she would stay warm beside her man as he slept on; close enough for her to touch but far enough so that they weren't.

Her head nestled on the same pillow as his. so very close that if she were to move she might very well have bonked their heads together. To all the outside world a loving couple exhausted after some prespring housework, albeit a rather annoyed one because of the noise he was making. But thankfully she was so tired that she didn't so much as twitch till the itchy feeling in her throat became unbearable several hours her up abruptly Christine coughed, her throat and eyes stinging with the dust and smell of moth-dirt which lingered in her nose as Erik's snore reverberated throughout the room and he woke suddenly when he felt her hair brush his skin. Yellow eyes wide like some sort of frightened cat, his skeletal hands groping blindly in the darkness only to feel her hair as his hand and discover that she had curled up against his shoulder.

"Erik is dreaming, Christine is not beside him in bed."he murmured pathetically.

Moaning, Christine rolled over and snuggled Erik, not wanting to move from his arms where she had drifted off into sweet dreams of some long ago country-side with Papa listening to another one of his Little Lotte stories. He had just gotten to her favorite part in fact when an agonized groan caused him to pack up his violin and tell her that he must be on his way; much to her sadness. She had called out for him to come back to her, only to realize in dismay that she was waking up and argued against it in her mind. She was tired and floating on a dream-cloud with her daddy when the moan of a broken tortured creature startled her out of her dreams and back into the world of the living.

"Erik has a nasty fever and is going to die soon. Yes that's it! Erik is dying!" he sobbed.

Christine shook her head, wanting to go back to sleep, feeling tired and achy as she opened one eye and peeked at him. He was in fact awake, and in a turbulent mess of emotions. Tossing and twisting about as he did so. Effectively kicking her out of the bed in the literal sense and as she rolled off the bed she had the misfortune of giving herself a dizzying conk on the nose. Groaning she got up and felt the throbbing bridge of her nose which was now bleeding and sore and discovered it thankfully intact before turning her attention to the man in the bed who was at present in a panic and thrashing about as he did so. Raving and ranting to himself as his arms flailed all about and smacked her when she tried to sit on the bed.

Knocking her down again to where she was sure she had now bruised her face and would really have some explaining to do when she got back to the opera house. Running away in the middle of the night with a strange man known as the opera ghost was one thing; causing an entire show to be shut down and hundreds of francs to be lost in revenue eventually forgivable. But bruising on her face was going to provoke the most uncomfortable, and awkward questions that Christine was sure she did not wish to answer when she got back on Monday night. She need not look in the blurred reflection of the dusty mirror to know that she was going to be marred in the morning as, hot, sticky blood ran down from her nose, passed her upper lip and trickled into her mouth.

"Mmmm...Erik do hush... your voice needs a rest. It's hoarse enough without your unnecessary screaming." she groaned, massaging her aching temples and nose.

"OH WOE TO ERIK!" he screamed, "WOE! WOE! WOE!"

Christine rolled her eyes an sighed,pinching the skin between her eyebrows and counting back from three to try and smother her rousing irritation. Erik could really be a lot sometimes, she knew but this was getting ridiculous. He really did have the most over the top reactions sometimes and she was not here for them. Instead she kept her eyes closed tight, waiting for him to settle down and thinking of anything else by way of distraction. She began counting the tiles in the cobblestone ceiling one by one. There were exactly, one-hundred and twenty-two speckled squares in the cobblestone ceiling which divided into quadrants of four and... oh for Pity's sake! Erik had rolled off the bed and was thrashing wildly about; making enough noise to wake the whole of France.

"Yes Erik yes, woe, alack and so on now _enough_." she said firmly.

The tone of her voice caused those golden eyes to cease there frantic blind search of the room and settled on her face, calming instantly. Still trembling, Erik raised a hand and placed his cold palm on her cheek. Long skeletal fingers stroking her face in reverent disbelief as he stared feverishly into her eyes and turned away from her touch as if she went to strike him rather than cup his chin in return as she helped the poor wheezing fellow to his feet and sat him down on he bed next to him nestling her head on his left shoulder. His hand tentatively going through her hair as he seemed at last stunned into merciful silence at the realization that she was there in his arms; quieting his tears and soothing him.

"Christine... is here...with Erik in his bed." he stammered, shocked as he felt the fabricy warmth beneath his fingers.

"I am and I do wish you would settle down," she told him. "Erik, you are sick and you need to rest your voice or you will develop permanent laryngitis and we cannot have you ruin your voice."

"Erik is always sick Christine." he told her, "Erik lives in a wet blackish dungeon with no light." the tone of his voice made her raise her eyebrows, it was almost sarcastic in a way, sardonic. "Erik has grown used to being ill."

"Not anymore." she told him. "Look." she said as she opened the window.

The whiteness of the crisp winter morning poured in causing him to recoil in pain with a whimper so pathetic that she actually cringed as he clamped his yellow hands over his eyes to shield them. Christine, shocked and not knowing what to do, closed the drapes and sit beside him on the bed. Stroking his head as he moaned and whimpered in apparent pain rubbing his eyes and looking at her with wide-eyed teary orbs which twisted something inside her into a massive sailor-knot which would have needed cutting open. Her fingers trailed through his hair and he let out a damn-near-orgasmic sigh a her caresses as he finally removed his trembling fingers from his eyes and looked at her; the skin of his missing lip wrinkling and quivered as if he were a child about to burst into tears.

"The light hurts Erik's eyes Christine." he sobbed, "it burns them, makes them sting."

Christine slapped her own forehead cursing that she had not seen something so obvious before. Of course Erik's eyes were sensitive to the light after so many years in his dungeon. She kissed him, tasting the salt of his tears on her lips as she eased him back onto the water-mat and wrapped her slender arms around his waist. His crying slowly beginning to settle itself as she eased herself up onto her elbows and inspected the man she loved to see if his fever had gone down. He was still warm, very warm but not burning as he had been before which had encouraged her just enough to ease the throbbing in her head as he lay passive and helpless in her arms. Like a little lost lamb finally at home with their shepherd.

"I'm sorry Erik dear." she said, "I didn't realize I will keep the drapes closed till you are well."

Erik began to wail again, the sound like an angel who was having the feathers plucked from his wings one by one till he was nothing more than a mass of pink flesh, sore and raw from the sudden nudity of it all. It was a sound so horrible that Christine had to clamp her hands over her ears and squeeze her eyes shut to lessen the pain. Curse his mood-swings! He sat on the edge of the bed sobbing and shaking as though he were little more than a small child caught in the remnants of a nightmare, his head resting on his knees and snot oozing slimily down his face and all over the knee of his dress-pants as he mashed his snout into his trousers and tried to get hold of himself to no avail.

"Erik," she sobbed, frustrated to the point of tears, "what on EARTH is the matter **_now!"_**

"Erik...Erik is...Erik is just-so happy...he doesn't want his fever to go away because then Christine will be gone too." he moaned and she had to smile.

"Well I am pleased that me being here makes you happy," she said, "But please Erik do settle down...I am not going anywhere and you will wake the neighbors and-

"Neighbors?"he asked darkly. "Erik has neighbors?"

"Yes Erik," she said, "There is a very nice man named Mr. Lamont down the road who thinks you are my husband and if you continue to scream then he will come up here thinking something is wrong."

"He thinks Erik is your what?" Erik asked in utter disbelief. "Why would he think a stupid thing like that?"

Christine looked down, hurting at his apparent rejection, "because that's what I thought you wanted so that's what I told him." she told him sheepishly.

Erik was so overcome with emotion at this that he grabbed Christine and pulled her close to him where she choked on the pressure of his embrace as he smothered her nose into his shoulder. She turned her head, not because she hated the smell of his clothes but because with his bony shoulder there was no padding and it was rough on the bridge to the point of being painful. Still, she had to admit, his embrace while cold was not the least bit unpleasant. He was sobbing, kissing all over her head, golden eyes bright with tears as he squeezed her so tightly that her back popped. Groaning she wrapped her arms around him and let him weep, good lord the man did love a good cry it seemed. He wept enough to create a third section of the channel perhaps connecting Ireland to England and France.

The thought made Christine laugh and she giggled the thought of the three countries suddenly being joined by her lover's emotions. The thought made her smile as she rubbed Erik's back and eased him straight down so that he was again reclining on the bed. He was looking up at her with a tender devotion that broke her heart. Like a helpless child so broken and tormented and desperate for someone, anyone to make it all better. Christine yawned, realizing then that it was nine o'clock on Christmas morning! A slow smile curving her lips as Erik found himself falling back to sleep. Christine stroking his hair as he looked up at her with those beautiful golden eyes of his, wide and round with childlike helplessness. Fixated and hardly moving on her hand as her fingertips stroked his sparse hair back from his forehead.

"I told him you were my husband Erik Delaney and that we were just back from our honeymoon." she laughed a little awkwardly, "Didn't want him asking awkward questions..."

"Erik will do whatever Christine wishes. If she says his name is Delaney than that is what he will call himself." he said yawning, "Erik will be her husband, Erik will name himself whatever she want...but he must ask her to forgive him just one more time."

"I can't. In order to forgive you, you have to have done something wrong."

"Erik is just so sleepy... he wants to talk to Christine but he cannot keep his eyes open..."

"Hush love..." she smiled, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "I am not going anywhere.

Erik did not protest any further and, after tucking him in she headed down the street, unsure of her surroundings but not frightened. She headed down the way to where Mr. Lamont was, intending to wish him good morning only to see him dragging an enormous fir tree out from behind the back of his house. He looked to be struggling quite a bit and Christine went over to help, eliciting a smile from the man as she did so.

"Morning Missus. How's your old man?" he asked cheerfully.

"Better thank you, you appear to be struggling under the weight of this tree."

"Aye Miss, the snow knocked it down, shame really more fodder for the saw and firewood I suppose."

Suddenly Christine had an idea, it was Christmas morning and she was sure Erik had never had a proper one before. She felt another pain in her heart at the thought of Erik as an unloved little boy all alone on Christmas morning while his mother pretended he did not exist. She saw the tree and her eyes lit up imagining it dressed in baubles and shiny things, all a-twinkle and bright in the house. Erik's very first Christmas.

"I could buy it from you." she said, "We don't have one yet being just home from our honeymoon and all."

Mr. Lamont smiled and shook his head, "Jesus Mary and Holy St. Joseph, cuppa newlyweds and you don't have a tree for your Christmas morning?" she shook her head and he looked appalled. "Take this one, heaven knows I'm not going to use it."

"How much?" she asked reaching for her purse.

"No charge, it's a bloody disgrace that a beautiful young bride doesn't have a tree for their first Christmas. Hell I will haul it for you missus right down the road to your house."

"You don't have to..." she said blushing.

"Oh nonsense missus. Come on." He said as he loaded the tree into his cart and tugged it down the way. Christine followed him, her hands shaking from the cold of the biting winter air. Realizing too late that the moment Mr. Lamont walked into the room she was going to have a lot of explaining to do. But it couldn't be helped. He trudged the tree down to her doorstep and set it down in front of the house for her with a tobacco-stained smile. "Here we are missus D do you need help getting it in."

"Oh no... I will manage but if it's not too much trouble would you mind finding a priest.." He looked curious and so she answered quickly," I would like to have our home blessed, seeing as we just moved here and all." she said, not a lie although she had something else in mind as well. "of course you don't have to do it today but-"

"Say no more Missus, I'm a good Catholic, just come over from Ireland me-self and I completely understand I'll run right down the way and get the man. You just keep hold of the tree and I will run right down the way to the church and you go right ahead and get your Christmas started."

"Thank you!" she called out, as he had already headed down the lane.

"Sure thing I'll be right back..." he said and she took the trée inside, plotting the perfect gift for Erik as she did so...


End file.
